


Warm on a cold night

by keycchan



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, that's it it's just fluff that's IT, they're married fuck yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/pseuds/keycchan
Summary: Husbands, a couch, and copious amounts of cuddling.Also, boob honking.
Relationships: Sam Chisolm/Goodnight Robicheaux
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	Warm on a cold night

“Goody.”

“Mm.”

“ _ Goody. _ ”

“Sam.”

He sighs. Goody still isn’t looking up from where he’s lying, facedown on Sam’s chest, arms around Sam’s waist. It’s not an uncomfortable position to be in. In fact, Sam’s fairly certain he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here; lying on their couch by the window on a rainy weekend, Kindle in his hand, Goody lying on him like a cat. No jobs, no obligations, phones off. Taking a goddamn break for once in their lives.

Goody’s nuzzling is making his chest itch though, so he ignores the whine of protest when he gently nudges his husband’s head a little so he can scratch it.

“But I was comfortable,” Goody groans. He bats his pretty blue eyes for extra effect.

Thank God that Sam’s been immune to it for years. “Sure,” Sam responds as he idly scratches his chest. The second he’s done, Goody goes back right into it, face down and nuzzling. Figures. “Why d’you like my boobs so much?”

“I’unno. S’just nice.” Goody murmurs in response, moving to rest on his cheek. “S’yours.”

When Sam moves to pet a hand through Goody’s hair, the man melts like a human souffle over him. Melts even more when Sam moves to stroke the nape of his neck. The sound Goody makes is helplessly contented, and Sam’s heart is full.

( _ “It reminds me that you’re here with me,” Goody had told him once, after a particularly rough day. It’d been the 4th of July. They’d bought the place hoping it’d be soundproof for just this purpose, but it’s not soundproof enough apparently. Goody’s got their fingers intertwined so Sam doesn’t start rubbing at his throat, and Goody’s got his head on Sam’s chest, shaking. “It reminds me that you’re alive, an’ living.” _ )

They lie like that awhile. Sam keeps scratching Goody’s neck, and Goody stretches his legs out in contentment. The rain outside is nice; heavy enough to block out other sounds, not heavy enough to give Goody the shakes. It’s peaceful for once. 

It’s also a little bit hilarious, he acknowledges, the image of two weathered, retired war vets in their 50s tangled up on a couch like house cats, but, you know. It’s not a bad image.

He leans down a little to kiss the top of Goody’s head, where the hair’s going grey and a little thin. He should’ve done it earlier, because  _ that _ gets Goodnight to lift up his head, smile on his mouth that he lets Sam taste when he leans up to meet him. They’re too old now to really get into it — Sam’s lost the appeal of making out like teenagers decades ago — but he’ll never get tired of kissing Goody, he thinks.

They enjoy a few more moments of that, taking their time, before they pull away and Goody rests his head on Sam’s collarbone, tucked under his chin. This is nice too. Doubly so because Sam gets to scratch again at his chest where Goody’s been lying the better half of the hour.

“Read it for me.” Sam says, nudging the Kindle into Goody’s side. “My eyes are tired.”

Goody snorts, but takes the Kindle anyway. “Fine, but you’d better not read over my shoulder. You always read too fast and get impatient, then I have to deal with your bitchin’.”

“Then read faster instead of like a theatre kid in drama class,” Sam points out, and laughs when Goody kicks at his ankles. Then Goody’s turning over to lean his back on him, and he’s wrapping his arms around Goody’s waist, and he lets Goody’s voice wash over him.

* * *

By the time they wake up, Sam’s ass is numb, and Goody’s drooling into his own beard. The room’s dim lamplights are still on, but the Kindle’s dead, and a look at his watch tells Sam that it’s late o’ clock. He takes a deep breath to wake himself up, and then nudges Goody.

“C’mon. Up and at ‘em,” Sam says, soft but insistent, and watches his husband groan into wakefulness.

“Fuck. W’ time’s it?” Goody slurs, groggy.

“Late. Time for old men to go to bed, so those old men don’t wake up with back pain, again.”

“Think you’re a lil’ too late for that,” Goody groans, his face curled into a wince as he sits and straightens his spine. “An’ you’re older than me.”

“Me bein’ older doesn’t make you any less old,” Sam points out, and then gets up, his own back protesting a little. He ignores it to hold out a hand for Goody to take, leaving the Kindle behind for future Goody to chew him out about not charging. “C’mon now.”

Goody’s warm palm slipping into his isn’t new, but Sam’s never lost the appeal of it anyway. Neither is seeing Goody in their shared bathroom, brushing his teeth, getting toothpaste in his beard. Getting ready to sleep in their shared bed, shared home. There’s no getting tired of lines on their faces — older, now, but with some smile lines ‘round the eyes, instead of just battle scars. There’s no getting tired of seeing Goody catch his eyes in the mirror and blush like he’s twenty again, or of seeing the weathered gold bands ‘round both their fingers.

Of course, there are still some days where Goody still can’t get into a car without shaking. Some nights Sam still wakes up with the scar ‘round his throat burning, remnant wrath still cold in his heart. The nightmares don’t go away. 

But most days it goes like this: with Sam spitting out toothpaste into the sink right next to Goodnight changing out of his clothes, and it’s mundane. It’s mundane, and it’s boring, and they’re  _ happy _ . They’ve been through hell and back, damn it. They’ve reserved the right to be mundane and enjoy the hell out of it.

“You look happy,” Goody pipes up, looking at Sam as he enters the dim bedroom. Goody’s body is in sharp contrast from the bathroom light still coming in from the doorway, but he’s got some paunch ‘round his waist now. No more ribs sticking out in deep shadows, no more skeletal wrists. Some softness, now, both in the belly and in the smile on his face. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Mm,” Sam replies expressionlessly, and then reaches over to honk his husband’s tit.

Goody’s squawk breaks his deadpan. His mouth splits into a wide grin as Goody turns red, clutching at his boob like he’s been wounded, yelling  _ SAM! _ even as Goody’s own mouth threatens to split at the seams into laughter.

“You’re right,” Sam grins, “S’ pretty nice.”

He barely manages to bark out a laugh before Goody tackles him to the bed.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> literally born bc of this
> 
> no beta not even rly proofread, its 5:30 am ok just take it


End file.
